


Chasing After Trouble

by ghostrunner



Category: Justified
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:57:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1343311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostrunner/pseuds/ghostrunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bruising</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing After Trouble

“He stands too close to you,” Art says. They’re watching Boyd Crowder walk out of the Marshals’ office like he came all this way for a chat instead of an interrogation. 

Raylan raises his eyebrows without turning. “I’ve never noticed,” he lies.

Art gives a little ‘hmm’ that expresses his disbelief, his suspicion, and his abiding desire to not know. It’s a complex sound. 

Nothing about Kentucky is simple. 

\--

Boyd doesn’t have to stand close to make you feel his presence. He has a way of filling up a room despite being not a particularly large man. He’s the one holding everyone’s eyes. 

He stands well inside Raylan’s space when they talk. Drops his voice low, not like he’s trying to hide what he’s saying from anyone else, but like Raylan’s the only one he’s even noticed is in the room. 

It doesn’t bother Raylan. Even when they’re talking threats. There’s a feeling in his chest that’s been hanging around forever. Like the tug of a lead line, a gravitational pull back to Kentucky. Whether it’s to the hollow and the long line of family history scratched in the dirt, buried in the veins of the mountains, or just to Boyd, he isn’t sure. He tries not to think about it too much. 

\--

Boyd smells like sweat and soap. He tastes like bourbon and kisses with too many teeth. He fights Raylan’s belt and zipper open, slides his hand into the back of his loosened jeans. 

Raylan has three inches and twenty pounds on him and he uses them to pin Boyd back to wall and show he’s serious. “Don’t you dare put your teeth anywhere it’ll show,” he says. 

Boyd smiles, slow and sly. His mouth is bruised. Raylan can’t stop staring at it. His belt buckle scrapes against Raylan’s badge as he straightens, removes Raylan’s hat with exaggerated care and sets it aside. 

“You have my solemn word, Raylan,” he says, firm and sincere and still not very reassuring. 

He leaves bruises on Raylan’s thighs and biceps, but he keeps his word. 

\--

“Well,” Boyd says, at ease and smiling. “Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens. To what do I owe this… distinct pleasure?”

A couple of Boyd’s heavies glower at Raylan, but they slink away, hands off their weapons. They know by now that if Boyd needs protecting from Raylan the day is already lost. 

Boyd has a habit of treating Raylan’s occasional investigations into his criminal activities like it’s some kind of joke they’re both in on. There’s a sucking bruise under Boyd’s shirt, low on his belly, that fits Raylan’s mouth perfectly. Maybe it is a joke. 

Except they both know that if he found anything concrete he wouldn’t hesitate to throw him back in jail. It’s in the twist in Boyd’s smile, the way Raylan doesn’t lift his jacket, but checks his gun with his wrist. 

He shot Boyd once. He warned him first, and he meant it. He still means it. The physical evidence they’d find on Boyd’s skin might be kind of damning, but he’d do it if he had to. 

Boyd raises his eyebrows. “Raylan? Did you come all this way to stand in the shade and stare at me? Because, my friend, you are welcome to do so, but you do seem to be on duty.”

Raylan puts his hat on the bar. “I’ll take you up on that bourbon, if you don’t mind.”

Boyd steps off his stool, leans closer than he has to, strictly speaking. “My pleasure, Raylan.” 

\--


End file.
